


Be Still

by allisonsaurusrex



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Discrimination, Elves, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Halamshiral, Orlesian Balls, Racism, Romance, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonsaurusrex/pseuds/allisonsaurusrex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Niamh (NEE-evh) Lavellan is not please with her advisers' suggestion that she be present at the Royal Orlesian Ball, knowing the discrimination and insult she will face being an elf.  Her worries hold true as she suffers abuses in all forms within minutes of her arrival.  Luckily, Solas knows precisely how to comfort her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Still

**Author's Note:**

> Contains brief instances of both physical abuse and sexual harassment that may be uncomfortable for people who are sensitive to such topics, though the problems are stopped and only serve to progress the plot. Happy ending!
> 
> (Corrections have been made to her name. I was mistaken that the name was pronounced NYE-uhm and so the way Solas said her nickname made zero sense. Her name is pronounced "NEE-evh" and her nickname is "NEE-uh." Solas kind of just drops the V. Hopefully this little blip didn't bother people overmuch. I hate that I misrepresented such a beautiful name.)

               Niamh did **not** want to be here. “Can’t we just send a messenger?” she had pleaded her advisors to no avail.  The elven woman had furrowed her light red brows at the trio of towering humans across the war table.  Though they knew of the Orlesian distaste for the elves, they did not truly grasp the extent of the discrimination Niamh would face attending the event as anything other than a servant. They did not know the gasps she would hear when the nobles noticed her leaf-shaped ears or the green filigree of vallaslin adorning her forehead.   They had no idea how many times she would be scoffed at or asked to refill a person’s drink.  Her formal uniform would do little to impress the Orlesians of her stature, nor would they care for it to. No, Niamh Lavellan’s advisors insisted that the Inquisition actually be present at Empress Celene’s peace talks at the “Winter Palace.”

                _Halamshiral._ Niamh cringed every time she heard the old elven capital in the Dales reduced to some frilly shemlen name.  She stood by the outer gates looking up at the imposing building. Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra had gone on ahead inside to make sure things were situated.  _This palace was once a symbol of my people’s power, and now I am forced to be here knowing that I will be looked down upon._ The Inquisitor sighed as she tugged at the collar of her uniform, trying to loosen it up.  Suddenly, she felt a warm hand brush her own away from the collar.  She focused her vision on the person standing in front over her.

                “Solas,” she uttered, partially as an acknowledgement of his presence but also as a question.  “What are you-,” She paused when she noticed that his brows were clenched tightly in concentration and he was biting his bottom lip as he fiddled with the buttons on her collar.  She shifted uncomfortably and attempted to take hold of the collar once again.  
                “Be still, Vhenan,” he urged as he continued to pull at the stubborn button until it finally came loose, “There.  I believe the buttons on the collar are decorative.  No need to asphyxiate yourself.” Niamh blushed slightly at the unexpected and tender gesture.  She still was not used to the subtle ways Solas showed affection even when they were not alone.

                “At this point, passing out might be preferable to the disaster that this is going to be,” she retorted sarcastically.  Solas laughed sympathetically at her pessimistic humor.  Niamh knew that Solas understood her concerns without her even having to vocalize them.  She was glad she brought him along, not only because he knew how to calm her, but also because she would not be the lone elf in formal attire.  She could have brought Sera, but that would have been a disaster.

                “I rather enjoy such gatherings.  So much mystery, passion, intrigue, _sex._ It’s an experience like no other,” Solas explained wistfully as he often did when discussing a fond memory or a Fade encounter.  Niamh would have been lulled by the musicality of his speech had she not been flustered by the “sex” part. Once again, her pale cheeks flushed bright red, despite her inner cries for them not to do so.

                “Heated, heavy, hard to breath.  Why am I blushing? Not again,” A new voice echoed Niamh’s own thoughts, out loud, “Wanting, waiting, wishing for more –“

                “Cole,” Niamh interrupted the ghostly young man, using every ounce of restraint she possessed not to yell and tackle him to the ground, “That won’t be necessary.”  She shook her head, mortified and shuffled quickly up a set of steps leading to a fountain in the courtyard that lay before the entrance to Halamshiral.  Solas chuckled softly as he and Cole walked leisurely behind the flustered woman.

                “I embarrassed her,” Cole stated mournfully as he tilted his head down, “I should not have done that.” Solas gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as if to say “Actually, the fault is mine.”  Cole smiled, understanding the gesture.

 

* * *

 

                Right as Niamh reached the glistening spout of water at the top of the steps she was approached by a slender woman in an exorbitant gown that was corseted at the waist, but billowed out around her with decorative lace, ruffles, and shimmering embroidery. Her face was hidden by a golden mask adorned with feathers that matched her dress. There was a gaudy ring on every finger. _These people find this fashionable? She looks like a… Creators, there’s no word for what she looks like._

“You there, _rabbit_ ,” the woman commanded condescendingly, using a common Orlesian slur for elves.  Solas and Cole arrived behind Niamh right as this discourse had happened the both watched their leader silently with pained expressions on their faces.  This was the worst possible introduction the already introverted and cynical elven Inquisitor could have received to the Ball.

                Remembering what Josephine had instructed her about The Game, Niamh did her best to choke back the rage that brought tears to her eyes and burned in the back of her throat. _Manners, Nia. Manners._ “Yes, milady,” she managed to ask politely.  The Orlesian woman seemed to find the response acceptable and tilted her nose upward and away from the elf as she continued to speak.

                “I seem to have lost my precious ring, and I simply cannot enter the Winter Palace without it,” the woman explained while Niamh examined her hands, looking for a place where she would be able to put the missing ring. “Be a good little knife-ear and retrieve it for me.”

                _Again with this bullshit.  I’m not even a person to her._ Niamh clenched her fists and tensed up, but still politely said, “Of course, milady.” She bowed her head curtly, if only to hide the disgust on her face.  She began to turn and walk away to go sleuth about for the missing jewelry, but the woman grabbed her arm roughly.

                “Do not run off with my ring, elf, or I will see to it you are flogged,” she released Niamh’s arm with a brisk shove and walked away to stand at the edge of the fountain.  Niamh’s eyes brimmed with tears as she rubbed the sore area on her arm where the woman’s nails had dug.  She was not weak, but the combination of physical and emotional abuse left her vulnerable.  Solas and Cole approach cautiously.

                “Don’t. Just don’t,” Niamh sighed, not wanting pity, sympathy, or compassion at the moment, “Let’s just find this damn ring.”  Solas and Cole obliged, silently.  There was an air of understanding that needed no words to be known.  With the combined efforts of the three, the ring was quickly found and returned to its owner who did not even say “Thank you.”

                Unfortunately for Niamh, the mistreatment did not stop once she had entered the walls of Halamshiral.  In fact, it even became worse.  One woman squealed, literally, squealed as Niamh had passed, remarking how disgusting it was that a religious force had taken a barbaric elf to be its leader.  The other nobles around her nodded in agreement.  The Inquisitor did her best to let the comments roll off her back as she always did, and she was quite successful at remaining stoic for some time.

                Niamh left Solas and Cole to mingle with the others at the Ball, waiting to be formally announced.  She was on her way to speak with Leliana when she was approached by a masked man.  She noticed that he was huskier than most of the human men at the gathering.  Clearly, he was wealthy and well-fed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when he sauntered up to her.  Over his shoulder, Niamh noticed that Leliana was watching from the corner of her eye.

                “Well aren’t you a fine little creature,” he stated in almost a whisper.  The smell of alcohol was rotten on his breath. “I’ll bet you look even better on your knees.”  Niamh was not a very worldly person, but even she knew the vulgarity of what he had just uttered.  The statement was so obscene, that she could not refrain from an outburst any longer.

                “I would not let you touch me if my life depended on it, shemlen prick,” she said quietly, but forcefully.  Once again, she attempted to turn away from that which insulted her, and once again she was grabbed roughly. This time, she was pulled into a dark corridor off the ball room.  Only a small sliver of light illuminated a streak across her face and the face of her aggressor.

                “Who do you think you are, you little _slut,”_ the man asked, livid from the elf’s bravado.

                “That happens to be the Inquisitor, monsieur,” Leliana said diplomatically as she approached at just the right moment.  Niamh noticed that she had taken the time to retrieve Solas, who scowled as he watched the scene unfold from behind the Spymaster.  The husky man quickly released her and muttered an insincere apology as he rushed away.  Niamh fell back against the wall of the corridor and slid down into a defeated kneel.  She sobbed angrily, clenching her abdomen, gasping for air intermittently.  Leliana and Solas exchanged knowing looks and Leliana turned and walked away.

                Solas rushed to console Niamh as soon as they were alone. He knelt in front of her, and reached out to cup her face with his hands, tenderly wiping her tears away with his thumbs. He tilted her head upward so that he could look into her eyes.  He had never seen the usually confident and cheerful woman glance at him with such despondence.  He felt a sharp pang of rage flood over him directed toward the letch who did this to her, but he ignored the urge to set him on fire, and touched his forehead to that of his love. “Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispered, pulling her into an embrace.  She shook as she melted into him, unleashing her frustration and hurt in the form of silent tears that dampened Solas’ coat.  He did not mind, holding her until she was ready to pull away and talk.

                “I should not have lost my head like that, Solas.  I cost us favor with the court for sure,” were the first words she brought herself to say, “They already hate me enough because of what I am. I’m not even a person to them.”  Niamh looked away, ashamed of her own appearance, of the very thing the Dalish had taught her to be so proud of.

                “Do not blame yourself, Nia,” Solas urged softly, using his nickname for Niamh to express intimacy, “They are monsters, even to one another.” The Inquisitor traced the outline of her ears with the tips of her fingers as she continued to avoid looking Solas in the eyes. She wondered how differently this all would have transpired had her ears been small and round.

                “Here, I am either gawked at by prissy women for my marked face and my ‘rabbit’ ears, or I am groped and propositioned by drunk men who fetishize elven women as sexual objects.  He would have forced himself on me had it not been for Leliana.  He would have forced me to my knees for him. If I had resisted, I would have been killed.  The only reason I am unscathed is because I have a title. Sometimes I wonder how this hatred developed.  Did our people really commit such atrocities that we do not deserve better?”  Niamh continued to self-consciously finger her ears as she spoke.

                Solas, fed up with the self-loathing Niamh had succumbed to, grabbed each of her wrists gently, pulling them together in front of her. He held her hands in his own, and she finally found the courage to meet his steely blue gaze. “My heart.  You must stop this. Stand up,” he commanded.  Niamh obeyed, slowly rising to her feet, but gave him a puzzled look as she did so.  He remained on his knees in front of her. “The people who believe you belong on your knees, clearly have never seen the beauty of a woman who stands so tall, they have no choice but to look up to her.” He looked up at Niamh and smiled softly when he noticed the flush across her face and felt her grasp onto his hands more tightly.

                “Solas, that was…” the normally mouthy woman was at a loss for words. Never had she been so complimented, so uplifted by such a simple gesture.  She pulled him up to his feet instead of completing her thought. “You really think too highly of me. I’m nothing to be worshiped”

                “You are one of the most remarkable people I have encountered, the subtle passion you wield, your immense foresight, your wisdom and compassion,” Solas replied, pausing only to brush her cheek with his hand as he reached up to trace the edge of her ear that she had been contemplating moments before, “You’re so beautiful in every dimension, and if that is not worthy of at least some standard of worship, then nothing is.” He placed an affectionate kiss on each of her ears before enveloping her lips with his own passionately, but only for a moment, for the court would never approve of such an entanglement. Niamh wished that did not matter.

                “Ne’emma lath, Solas,” she whispered breathlessly as they parted.

                “And you are mine,” he responded before stepping out of the corridor and beckoning her to follow, “Come, before you miss your big introduction.” Niamh followed and the two walked closely side by side, their fingertips touching ever so slightly.  As they reach the steps that led down into the Ballroom, he distanced himself from her, but once again reached out, straightened her collar, and when he noticed her nervous fidgeting, bid her to “Be still.”

 


End file.
